


i will take you (as you are, over and over again)

by hoosierbitch



Category: Friday Night Lights
Genre: Angst, Community: kink_bingo, F/M, Female Protagonist, Femdom, Loneliness, Strap-On
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-06-06
Updated: 2010-06-06
Packaged: 2017-10-09 23:16:48
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,614
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/92674
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hoosierbitch/pseuds/hoosierbitch
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>She hadn't known that there were so many different kinds of strap-ons.</p>
            </blockquote>





	i will take you (as you are, over and over again)

**Author's Note:**

> This follows [With Tired Eyes, Tired Minds, Tired Souls, We Slept](http://hoosierbitch.livejournal.com/2225.html). Both work perfectly well as stand-alones, but if you're in the mood for a little fem-domme action, feel free to check out the prequel.

They shop around online for nearly an hour. Who knew that there were so many different kinds of strap-ons? Vibrating and inflatable and ribbed, double-ended and extra large, animal shaped and realistic. Then she finds a dildo that's Panther blue, and she buys it even though Tim swears, in as loud a whisper as he'll risk with Mindy asleep on the couch a few feet away, that it'll never fit.

The site advertises discreet billing and shipping and she trusts them - it's the site where she bought the ball gag. They've got riding crops, too, she notes. For next time.

"This Friday," she tells him. "After the game."

"My house's gonna be full of rally girls. So unless you want an audience…"

She considers it long enough for him to roll his eyes, and then another minute as he starts to look apprehensive. "No fucking way."

She sighs. "Fine. Prude."

"Hey," he says. "I'm letting you do God knows what to me with that—that—Panther prick. You don't get to insult me, too."

"Yeah, yeah. Bitch bitch bitch, moan moan moan."

"I thought the moaning came later, he says with a smirk."

"Go make me breakfast," she says, because maturity's never been their strong suit.

He makes frozen waffles because that's about the best he can do, and he doesn't notice the speculative eye she turns towards the syrup. The waffles are cold again by the time they finish eating.

* * *

The game does not go well. Jason sprains two fingers in the second quarter and Tim runs up against the same linebacker every single frickin' play, and guy's like a wall and knows Tim's slightly weaker on his left turn and bad against low hits and it's a lesson in futility. And humiliation, because every time Panther's offense comes off he's got Mac screaming in his face, asking him how dumb his momma must have been, and seriously is Tim retarded or something, and please for the love of god will somebody do something out there.

Smash, he notes, doesn't get yelled at nearly as much, and Jason just looks at him with the same look Mac's got. Like Tim's just not trying hard enough. Like he doesn't really want it.

Like they're disappointed.

Tim plays worse in the third quarter than he has since middle school and maybe even before then, but fourth quarter the linebacker calls Tim a little girl and that's just stupid enough and infuriating enough to piss. Tim. Off.

He sets the guy on his ass three out of the next four plays, and Smash gets a touchdown, Tim gets Jason's pat on the back, and they only lose by twenty-one points. Coach's yelling fills the locker room and all the players are silent. Tim just sits and waits for coach to tell them to fuck off.

Billy's working the late shift at some twenty-four hour pool hall where he's sleeping with a waitress and he loaned Tim the pick-up as an apology for having to miss the game. There's extra blankets in the back, lube that he stole from Walgreen's, some bottled water, and a towel.

The trainer checks Tim out and gives him some extra-strength aspirin, four instant ice packs, and instructions to not drink too much. Tim pockets the aspirin, shoves the ice packs in his bag, and, for once, doesn't even think about drinking as he heads out to the parking lot. Tyra's chatting up one of the other freshman—one of the defensive ends, he thinks - and Tim makes a mental note to find out the kid's name.

He gets behind the wheel and they sit in the car in silence, watching the other players walk out of the building and go to their families.

"You got it?" He asks. She nods. "Hey - do you want to get something to eat first?"

"Get your foot on the gas pedal, Tim, or I swear to Christ that I will take you right here, right now, in front of the boosters and the Streets and the whole goddamn coaching staff." He drives off but Tyra's got a new thing for talking dirty, and keeps going. "I got so wet watching you play. Every time you made a hit, or someone took you down—every time they said your name on the loudspeakers I thought about how I'm gonna fuck you until you forget who you are." And yeah it's a cliché but she means it and her hand's burning hot even through his jeans.

He's so hard by the time he gets to the corner of the abandoned field that it's actually painful.

* * *

It's got a head on it, like a real dick. "Shoulda just got a regular dildo," she says, "these straps are fucked up." Tim stills her hands.

He takes it all off, sorts it out, and then slides the straps back up her legs and buckles them around her waist, tight under the cheeks of her ass. Dixie Chicks are playing on the radio, and the only light they've got is from a flashlight leaning up against the wheel well. It makes them both look like gargoyles, like shadows instead of people. "Love you", she says.

"It's really not any harder than football pads," he murmurs.

"Yeah. We should do it sometime while you're wearing those."

"Huh. You buckled in tight enough?"

She holds his chin in her hand and says, "let's find out."

* * *

She'd researched it. Not, like, gay porn or anything, but how-to-guides and things, which she thought was geeky in a weird way but she's glad she did it, now, because Tim is so tight around just one finger that she wonders if maybe her fake dick actually is too big.

She's got him on hands and knees in the truck bed. She gets two fingers in with some more lube and he's twitching under her hand and little gasps come out of him with each twist. Oh god, Tyra, oh oh fuck and sometimes he pulls back and his shoulders get real tense but when she's got three fingers inside him, he just trembles.

She doesn't feel powerful. Not like when she had him tied down and helpless and he was trying desperately to fuck her. She feels detached, almost. Clinical. Like all she's doing is sticking some fingers in him which he seems to be enjoying in an overwhelmed kind of way, but she feels—disconnected.

And then she tells him to turn over on his back. And she lines up her cock at his hole, which is sort of trying to close, and she puts one of his legs over her shoulder and gets distracted for a sec by his leg hair and then, and then, and then she looks and there he is. Spread out before her, for her, waiting for her to fuck him with her dick. "Yeah", she says. "Like that." It sure as hell doesn't feel clinical now.

She takes her time. Presses the big blue head against his hole until he's frustrated enough to push himself onto it. The head breeches him and he freezes absolutely still. His cock wilts a bit and she just keeps moving forward. "Fuckin' you with my dick," she says, "you're takin' my dick, Tim, look at you takin' it." He moves in little stops and starts, like his body has no idea what to do, and she just presses, slowly, in. "Street would never fuck you like this," she says.

"Yeah, I know, he's got more class," Tim says, and he's trying to make it a joke but there's a warning in his eyes.

"Are you pretending?" she asks. "Are you pretending that I'm Jason? Because I will fucking kill you if you are. Swear to god."

"No," he says, in his lazy, honest voice, tired and truthful. "Just you."

Tim's never been good at lying to her. Never been good at lying to anyone, actually. Okay.

She pulls out all the way before going any further. Adds more lube because he is tight, wonders for a brief moment if she should have fingered him more but by now he's moaning constantly, little huffs of breath exhaled every time she shifts position.

She gets bitten by three mosquitoes before she's all the way back in. She holds herself still and then shifts until they're chest to chest and he's bent practically in half and she just grinds into him. He jerks like a puppet underneath her.

"Ask me," she says. "Ask me to fuck you."

"Fuck me," he says, breathless.

"Beg me."

Somehow he gets his other leg up into the crook of her elbow and then he starts talking until she fucks him so hard he's literally breathless. "You wanna fuck me, Tyra, wanna make me come with your big dick inside me? It's so big—I can feel it moving. So fuckin' far in me already, ah—Tyra—Jesus, Christ, please please fuck me—"

He sounds like he's in pain but she doesn't slow down because every time she thrusts forward his cock is ground between them and he's tough, he can take it, take her, take it harder.

When he comes, he clutches at her shoulders, hard enough probably she'll have fingertip bruises reminding her of how he looked, lost and letting go. He shoots all over both their bellies, the underside of her breasts, his own chin. She stops moving deep inside him and waits until he's done shaking, until he looks at her, before she starts moving again.

"Stop—Tyra, stop, it's too much. Gimme a minute. Fuck—"

She kisses him so he'll shut up and moves her hips in and out as far as she can without having to stop kissing him. She licks his teeth, bites his lips, and he just whimpers against her tongue. She's about to give it up. Stop moving, call it quits—she doesn't want to hurt him, she just wants to push him, bruise him, use him, make him hers - and then he wraps his arms around her and flips them over.

"My turn to be on top," he says, and it would have sounded more impressive if he hadn't been shuddering already at the new angle. Her dick is hitting his prostate with every thrust, now, and he lifts himself on and off her at his own pace, his hands planted by her head, his sweat dripping onto her.

"Ride me, baby," she says, and he does. He just takes. Moves in small circles and throws his head back and the flashlight got knocked over when they shifted positions, the moon's barely bright enough to light his face, the curve of his neck, his hair stuck to his face. She grabs hold of his cock and pulls it just the way he likes.

His second orgasm lasts longer than the first, but not as much comes out. He collapses on her, boneless, his come all over both of them. "Gonna pull out," she says. He nods, eyes still closed, and rolls them over. She wraps her hand around the strap-on and rubs at his skin where it meets. He tries to pull away, smacks at her hand, but she just keeps rubbing. She pulls out when he stops struggling and it comes out quick, wet.

She unbuckles the strap-on as quickly as she can. "Tim—I gotta come. Can you—" he doesn't say anything, just moves down in the truck bed until his head's under her cunt. She lowers herself onto his face and fucks herself on his tongue, fast. He fingers her clit but too slowly, so she takes over and he laps at her while she comes, wildly, harder than maybe she ever has before.

"You done?" he asks.

"Yeah."

"Can we fall asleep now?"

"Yeah."

He pulls the extra blanket over both of them, and falls asleep while she rides the last waves of her orgasm.

* * *

Tim wakes up before Tyra does. Eases himself out from under her, sits on the tailgate, naked, watches the sun come up.

He's sore. Ribs from where number #94 played him like a punching bag, right shoulder where it always twinges after games and also when it's about to rain, and deep inside himself, a new hurt, a nice hurt.

He washes himself off with half a bottle of water and drinks the rest. He ponders whether or not he should wake up the rest of the way, drive them home, maybe think about what happened. But he knows neither of them have people waiting for them and the blankets next to Tyra are warm.

* * *

Rain wakes them up about an hour later. Tyra laughs as she bundles the blankets up, and Tim wraps the strap-on and lube up in the towel and shoves it in his bag. He tries to pull his jeans on but Tyra tells him to stop. "You gotta be kidding me," he says. "This ass is off-limits. At least until after noon and some serious ice."

She tells him he should be more trusting and promises that he'll love it and then they're both in the cab of the truck, naked, wet, and her forehead crinkles while she ponders logistics. "Maybe if I open the window and you put your feet out," she says, which he vetoes because it's fucking raining out there.

"I got it," she says, and then she's pushing him until he's on his back on the seat, one leg over the backrest and the other jammed above the steering wheel which is" really not comfortable, Tyra, at all—wait—what are you doing? Are you seriously—" and then she licks at his asshole which is a dark, swollen red and he shuts up, quick.

It takes some maneuvering to prop himself up and he knows his shoulder is gonna be sore for, like, a month, but at least then it'll match the rest of him. Soon his mouth is on her cunt and her tongue is on his—oh, Jesus, in him.

It's the best idea Tyra's ever had. Warm and soft and he's so sore but her tongue feels so good. She fucks him with it, fucks his hole with her tongue, and he just whimpers and lets her and tries to keep up some sort of rhythm on her clit but he's pretty sure he fails miserably.

"Gonna come," he says, and whines when she pulls back.

"Just gimme a minute," she replies, scooting back to take his cock in her mouth and then she's got two fingers at his hole, just rubbing at the opening, rubbing inside and around and he comes so fast it's a surprise to both of them. He licks and sucks until she comes, too. She smiles at him and he can see his come wet at the corner of her mouth.

They get dressed while the rain slides down the windows. She's got bruises on her shoulders, he's got them on his hips. He shares the aspirin and the last bottle of water before they drive away.

"I'm not walking you to your door," he says, when he pulls up.

"Too sore?"

"Yeah. That, and if I do, I might never leave."

She was gonna say thanks. Kiss him and say it real quiet. But instead she just says yeah, and waits until she's out of the car to lean through his window and kiss him. She tries to say it, then. Thanks. But she knows he's going home to an empty house and he lets her inside every time she asks and all she wants is to say I love you Tim I love you.


End file.
